


Promise

by YoungJusticeAddict



Series: Just One Yesterday [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Minor Character Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:05:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8170889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungJusticeAddict/pseuds/YoungJusticeAddict
Summary: The tale of how Lieutenant Butch Flowers joined Project Freelancer





	

**Author's Note:**

> You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.  
> -J.M. Berrie; Peter Pan

**UNSC Dnal Reven Outpost, Camp 16, Outskirts of Colonized Space**

**Many Years Ago….**

Heavy boots kicked up a tornado of dust as they raced after each other, determined to claim ownership of the airborne plastic disc a few feet above them. The elder man caught it first, and the younger tackled him to the floor with a fit of laughter, scrambling to retch it free of the other’s grip.

The older soldier laughed, stretching his long arms high above his head to keep the toy from his younger brother. “Nuh uh, Butch. Magic words.”

“Fuck you,” Butch spat, pushing to his knees and grabbing for the other’s wrists to pin them to the dirt, “Sanders is gonna kill me. He said no one gets the frisbee while he’s on patrol.”

“Nope, that’s not it.” The elder brother smirked, taking his chance to buck up and throw Butch off before rolling and pinning him instead. “Who’s gonna tell him, Butch? You?”

“Of course not. If I can get it back in his footlocker before sunrise he won’t even notice.” Butch tried to copy his brother’s earlier move and feigned failure, simply squirming in the sand. “Get off me, Arnold.”

“Y’know, you’re gonna have to learn to be nicer if you want to get anywhere,” Arnold replied without moving, only tightening his grip on his younger brother.

“My skills can get me anywhere I want to be.”

“Then why can’t you get out of my hold, huh?”

The younger soldier rolled his eyes and easily flipped their positions per request. He snatched the toy from Arnold with a frown and stood.

Arnold grunted when his back hit the ground, but otherwise there was no protest. He watched his brother saunter away, remaining in the dirt. “You don’t want to hurt me, is that it?”

Butch froze mid step, nails digging into the plastic as he fought not to chuck it at Arnold’s head. Instead, he turned back around, and faced the accusation, “Why do you think that?”

He sat up, dusting the sands from his uniform, “I get it, but that’s not something you can continue to do, Butch. You can’t hold back like that.”

“I will do as I please,” he snapped back. Annoyance flickered across his features for a moment before the calm took over, a honed skill. “Enough of this.” Butch continued his earlier task, walking back to the bunks to return the stolen frisbee.

Arnold was quick to his feet, falling in step with his little brother, “I know those reports are bothering you, but you can’t let them change the way you fight, even if it’s just against me.”

Stacks of redacted pages flickered across Butch’s thoughts. He was with the General when he’d received the reports of friendly fire and treason splitting up the other camps. Some troops even abandoned the military entirely.

Rumors spread through the other divisions quickly while the investigation started, slowly revealing a plan to overthrow their current military leaders and slaughter anyone who stood in the way. Scuttlebutt reported whispers of curiosity about the pros of switching teams and how hard it would be to join up. Butch shivered at the the thought of his friends, his troop, turning on the brothers.

His mind traveled on further even as his feet didn’t. Arnold wouldn’t go against them, would he? Butch wondered if his sibling had even been propositioned, if he’d ever even considered it. Were they going to rise up here too? There was already word of it, despite General Bellingham’s attempts at squashing it. Once that virus spread, there was no stopping it.

“Butch?”

His brother’s voice cut through his stream of thought, but didn’t unfreeze his limbs. He stared ahead to Arnold’s confused gaze, a choked noise escaping his throat as his older brother’s expression melted into concern.

Arnold walked back to Butch and wrapped his toned arms tightly around his upper torso, trapping his arms at his sides. He rested his chin on the top of Butch’s head, huffing a breath at the length, mumbling something about how fast it grew. It was against regulation. They would need to do something about that before the General noticed. His words blew the loose strands back in a flop, “Everything’s gonna be fine, bud. I promise.”

It took him a moment, letting the words sink his anxiety before he brought his hands up to clutch at the back of Arnold’s shirt. He closed his eyes and pressed himself closer to his brother, and Arnold complied, hugging the younger as tightly and as long as he needed it.

Opening his eyes, he gazed over Arnold’s shoulder to the young woman leaning in the doorway of the barracks. Butch tensed, pulling away from his brother immediately. He nodded to her, “Evening, Captain.”

She smirked, pushing off the frame and stepping up to join the conversation, “Evening, Lieutenant.” The Captain nodded at Arnold, a gleeful spark in her eye, “Captain.”

Arnold gave her a small smile, gesturing towards the bunks, “Shall we?”

The trio quietly filed into the room and Arnold was swift to close the door before being pulled into the other Captain’s embrace. Their lips met silently, but with Butch they might as well have been using megaphones.

“Gross,” he hissed, fumbling with the lock on Sanders’ trunk.

“Jealous,” Arnold chimed.

“Hardly,” Butch pried open the box and replaced the stolen frisbee, rushing to lock it back up before they were discovered.

The Captain hummed in thought, crossing the distance to run her fingers through her boyfriend’s sibling’s hair. “You sure?”

Shaking her off, he replied truthfully, “Yeah, Cindy, I’m sure.”

Dropping her hand, she made her way back to her own bunk and plopped down on the mattress. She leaned back, reaching under her pillow for the bound book she kept there, pulling it into her lap with a worn pencil and a small eraser. “Come here, both of you.”

Butch looked to Arnold who simply shrugged and moved to stand before his girlfriend, pulling Butch up to stand beside him.

“Sit,” she ordered, and they took up residence on the bed across from her, awaiting her next instruction.

“Okay, now stay still,” her voice was quiet as she opened the book and flipped to an empty page. The boys observed her hands, entranced by the way they danced across the pages and used that old pencil to perfectly jot down their features.

“You can draw?” Butch questioned, eyes snapping up to watch her face.

A small giggle tumbled from her lips, “Yes. I can draw.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

Beside him, his brother tensed, keeping his eyes on the page even as the hand on them shook slightly. Cindy cleared her throat and set the tool down, “If I wasn’t here, I wouldn’t have learned. I’m here because my father wants me here.” Her smile was strained, but enough for Butch to know she was trying for his sake. “If I could be anywhere else, I would.”

He returned to sitting still, contemplating her admission. Would she be tempted by the uprising? Probably not, her dad was the general (a really big fucking surprise in itself when that was revealed). That would make things difficult at the holidays if she was suddenly on the enemy team.

“Then why do you draw?” Butch inquired, finding relief when she picked up the pencil and began again.

“For my baby sister.” Arnold smiled softly beside him, listening to the story for a second time. “She couldn’t keep up on everyone’s names, so we all decided to draw them for her. Took a long time to get anything right.”

“Why not just use a camera?”

“Do you see a camera in this bunk? Anywhere in this base?”

“....no.”

Cindy smirked, closing her book. “Then that answers that question.” When her eyes raised, Butch was taken back by the fondness dancing in them, her voice just above a whisper, “My bouquet boys…”

Butch started, ready to protest that dumb nickname, when a high pitched squeal pierced the air around them. The two Captains looked to each other before tackling Butch off the bed and onto the floor, voices melting together with panic, “Hit the deck!”

An explosion rocked their foundations, sending the door bursting open with a cloud of kicked-up dirt and smoke. Cindy was the first to stand, pulling the boys up once it seemed safe enough. “Gear up. Butch, you focus on getting the injured to medical and Arnold find a phone, radio the General that we’re taking fire and need assistance.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” Butch saluted her and jumped over three beds to his cot, scrambling to the end to unlock his trunk and retrieve his helmet and guns. Just as he opened the lid, another shell hit the base, taking out their bunker in one quick flash.

* * *

 

Hands. Hands. So many hands wandering across his skin, tentatively attending to numbed wounds and broken bones. Purple fingers came into view for just a moment, swinging around a big white spot before disappearing. His eyes burned, and a firm touch found his shoulder.

“Lieutenant Flowers, can you hear us?”

He struggled, a weak, grumbled heap of unintelligible word vomit tumbling from his cracked lips. He cleared his throat and tried again, successfully getting out, “Yeah.”

The doctor moved into his field of view, studying his face carefully, “Do you know where you are?”

“M-Medical?” he quizzed, lifting his head to look around. The walls were bleached white, matching the tiles of the floor and the equipment of the staff above him. The longer he stared, the quicker he found himself hating the colour.

The doctor shook her head, “No. You are in a hospital. You were brought here after the bombings. Do you remember anything about those?”

Butch shook his head, “We were sitting there…..Cindy was draw….drawing...us.” His mind stumbled around the memories, but the doctor seemed patient enough to let him get through this. “She finished and….”

“An you were blown up,” she added with a sad smile. She waited several minutes before sending away the other doctors in the room and placed her hand over Butch’s on the cot, “There’s something else, if you’re up for it.”

Butch pushed up to a sitting position, ignoring the dull throb in his breast. “Yeah.”

Her smile fell, eyes hardening, “Cindy -Captain Bellingham- is dead, Lieutenant. She died in the blast that put you here.”

The young soldier stared through her to the painfully white walls of the infirmary. He wasn’t too close to Cindy, but his brother was, and pulled him along for the relationship. His shoulders shook but no tears fell from his eyes. He could grieve later, with his brother. Speaking of..

“Where’s Arnold? Er- Captain Flowers?”

Taking a breath, she responded, “That was the next thing. Your brother nearly died in the explosion. He’s in a coma. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, he’s on life support. Neuro says he may never recover.”

Like ripping off a band-aid, her words came short and quick and left Butch recoiling. His vision swam before him as he gripped the sheets below to steady himself. The heart monitor wailed in disdain, blaring throughout the room and echoing off the monochrome walls. Her statements bounced around his skull, leaving craters of anguish in their wake, but only those last four words mattered.

_He may never recover._

Everything hurt, the drugs stopping their assistance in hiding the worst of the damage as his mind screamed in agony. He could feel every last piece of gauze and bandages. The tape from the pads on his left cheek pulled uncomfortably as his face twisted in grief, eyes squeezing shut and hoping, _praying_ to whatever being watching that this was all just a horrid dream.

Strong hands were placed across his back and on his chest, pressing in to control his shaking. “You need to breathe, Lieutenant,” her soothing voice calmed the storm, and slowly he clawed his way back to sanity to offer her four words in return.

“Show me my b-brother.”

* * *

 

 

Butch’s hand slid across the glass, the smooth surface below chilling the tips of his fingers like ice. His hand trailed down the window to rest on the sill as the other wrapped around his abdomen protectively. The dull throb of his broken ribs kept him from losing it again, and kept him alert enough to notice the footfalls sounding at his right while he watched his brother’s chest rise and fall with the help of machinery.

He stood in the hall, unable to pull up the strength to go inside. His gaze flickered to the newest occupant then back to Arnold’s prone form. “Hello, General.”

He wasn’t chastised for his lack of proper greeting, instead a heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder, grounding him. A beat passed before the CO spoke.

“My condolences, Flowers.”

“And mine to you, General.” The loss of a daughter and the loss of a brother were two separate streams of pain, but swam side-by-side just the same. “She was a good soldier, a good woman.”

General Bellingham nodded as he too watched Arnold’s body continue to live though his mind was long gone. “There is something I was going to bring to your attention later, but after…” Butch found himself tearing his gaze from the comatose soldier and to his superiors face. “There was a program looking to recruit the three of you. I shot them down for Cindy, but they were still looking hard at you two.”

Butch turned fully and Bellingham’s hand fell back to his side. “What program?”

“A division of the UNSC looking to work with experimental technology.” He looked to the door and nodded, allowing two important-looking men to enter and several more followed behind.

Butch stepped back, pressing against the glass and eyeing up everyone who entered. Seven in scrubs, probably medical techs. The other two were different. One man was just a bit taller than Butch, with dark skin and cropped curls sticking close to his head. He carried a clipboard and an unnerving smile. Beside him stood a tall, pale man with glasses and a serious, grim scowl.

The darker skinned man was the first to speak, stepping forward with an extended hand. “Hello, Lieutenant. I am Aiden Price. This is Director Church. We are the heads of Project Freelancer.”

Butch nodded, taking his hand firmly, “Hello.”

“We have a proposition for you, if you are willing.” If possible, the man behind Price stood even straighter.

Butch nodded, so Price continued. “We are developing technology based on the human mind, and require soldiers of your caliber to test our products.

“We were looking to hire on both you and your brother. I am deeply sorry for these circumstances, but due to his current status, he cannot willingly accept this offer. You can on your own behalf, however, if you wish.”

Butch blinked. “You want me to work for you? In my brother’s place?”

“Not exactly. As I stated, we wished for both of you to join our Project. You can join of your own free will, but Captain Flowers cannot.” Price handed Butch the clipboard and he read it over, trying to sift through the legal garble. “If we may have your permission, we would like to test his mind. You are his last living next-of-kin, and we ask this with the most respect possible given your current situation.”

His eyebrows knit in confusion, “What exactly are you gonna do to him?”

Price smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “We are going to test the limits of his injured mind in hopes to bring him back to fully functional consciousness. Our studies have brought us far enough for living specimens, and your brother can help us a great deal. He may even wake up someday.”

Something scratched at the back of his mind, warning him this offer was too good, but his heart won the fight. If they could bring his brother back to him, who was he to refuse?

“Additionally,” Price continued, “We will require your complete cooperation in our Project. We ask absolute loyalty in exchange for your brother’s services.”

“Of course.” Butch read over the paperwork one last time before signing the line at the bottom of the page, “Do it.”

The seven techs moved with the Director’s order, rolling in a large cryo-chamber and pushing it past Butch and into Arnold’s room. They settled it to the left of his cot and began working to transfer him into the pod. Butch’s gaze never moved, even as he handed the clipboard back to Mr. Price.

When they finished, and moved the chamber back out into the hallway, Butch stopped them, placing a hand on the foggy dome and echoing back his brother’s words, “Everything’s gonna be fine, bud. I promise.”

Turning to the Director and Aiden Price, he squared his shoulders, “When do I start?”

* * *

 

**Mother of Invention**

**(Many Years Ago) Several Days Later….**

“Thank you, Agent Florida. That will be all.” The Director concluded, waiting until their newest addition left the room before turning to the unusually silent Counsellor, “Something to say, Price?”

Aiden bristled, eyes snapping from his data pad to his boss’ face, “I do not see why we should keep Arnold Flowers in the cryo-unit, sir. He does not provide any true use to our goals if we are only aiming for using your mind for the artificial intelligence units. We could simply drop him off at a hospital or give him an appropriate funeral while providing Agent Florida with looped feeds and false medical reports. Keeping Captain Flowers around is a waste of resources.”

“While normally I would agree with that, Counsellor, we are contractually obligated to keep Captain Flowers alive while the Project stands.” Dr. Church was quick to answer, as if he planned for this conversation to rear it’s head. “He will not be much waste, simply a small power supply in a broom closet. Send him here,” he took the pad from Price and typed in coordinates to one of their recently acquired storage facilities. “We can keep him there and send someone out every few weeks to check on him. This way we do not waste much energy keeping him up in the air with us, and he is not a distraction to Flowers.”

Price nodded, preparing the flight manifest for the trip, “And we would keep him on life support, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Understood.” Price turned away, heading off to meet with a pilot and the medical crews.

* * *

 

Florida exited the briefing room and was quick to press the buttons on the elevator. It was his first day, and already he wanted to stay hidden in his new bunk. He didn’t much care for airships. Being so far from anything concrete and stable like a planet agitated the ex-soldier.

The doors opened before him with a ping and once more he was greeted by that nauseating bleached white colour. He focused on it, noticing how it wasn’t as still as the walls had been, and instead rose and fell with a steady breath. It moved, stepping aside to allow Florida entry.

Butch stepped inside, choosing to stay close to the opposite wall from the stranger. He seemed to notice Florida’s discomfort and spoke first.

“New around here?” Butch nodded, so the other man added, “Hmm. Well, I am Agent Wyoming. Who might you be?”

A witty reply stalled on the tip of his tongue as his brother’s words whispered back to him.

_Y’know, you’re gonna have to learn to be nicer if you want to get anywhere_

His jaw snapped shut, contemplating his choices. Looking up to Wyoming, he decided to give ‘being nicer’ all he had. He placed one fist on his hip and held the other out to shake, forcing as much cheer in his voice as humanly possible. “Why, I’m Agent Florida! Splendid to meet you, Agent Wyoming.”

Wyoming leaned back, obviously not expecting the shy soldier two seconds ago to suddenly become a beam of positivity. A small smile tugged at his lips below his helmet as he shook the other’s hand, “Same here, Florida.”

* * *

 

 **Freelancer Offsite Storage Facility** **  
** **A Few Years Ago….**

“Play it again, FILSS.”

_“Beginning playback.”_

The video started again. Those same few minutes of recorded memory he’d replayed over and over since he’d made his home at the facility so many days ago. Every inch of his skin radiated years of bottled pain, frustrated curses and pure failure. Leonard Church reached for the pistol, dragging the muzzle across the desk as he brought it before him.

“Thank you, FILSS. Now I would like you to erase all our files except for this one.”

_“All our files? Does that include….me, Director?”_

“It has been a pleasure working with you, FILSS. I am sorry.”

_“And you as well, Director.”_

“And, before you do, please shut down all of the facilities’ systems as well. Take everything offline.”

_“Director, if I shut down all the systems, life support would not-”_

“Thank you, FILSS, shut them all down. Lock us in.”

_“Alright.”_


End file.
